


Fire and Spice

by bunniesslaughtered



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 6000 Years of Pining (Good Omens), Alternate Universe, And only some of that is from Crowley, But I try to stay as true to the source material as possible, F/F, F/M, Heaven & Hell, Historical References, M/M, Modern Era, suicide ideation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-04
Updated: 2020-05-28
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:42:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22108051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bunniesslaughtered/pseuds/bunniesslaughtered
Summary: The demon and angel had grown quite fond of one another over their years stationed as each other’s adversaries. In truth, they were hardly unique for it. Plenty of angels and demons were friendly enough toward one another in their off hours, after their respective blessings or temptings had been checked off the lists and the memos sent off to their head offices. Some had been friends in full before half of the heavenly host was cast into Hell and continued some level of approachability with one another, within reasonable limits.Of course, it helped that they were nearly all under the direct supervision of one Virtue of Heaven and one Duke of Hell involved in the exact same dangerous dance as they were.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 9





	1. Chapter 1

**Seattle – 2002 AD**

“Look, all I’m saying is that his influences work best when people want what he’s giving them in the first place. A sort of careful-what-you-wish-for approach, you know?”

The two women – well, women-shaped beings, anyway – were waiting in a park a few blocks down from an infamous chain coffee shop for their respective colleagues to arrive. One was just returning to her spot on the bench with her fourth mocha. Not because of any venture into the more shallow waters of gluttony, much to the second woman’s immense disappointment, but rather because it was a chilly November morning and the first woman kept giving her hot drinks away to, as she had moralistically put it, ‘the less fortunate.’

“I’m still not entirely following how that makes MySpace one of yours,” said the first woman as she carefully smoothed out her long peach-colored coat and sat down once again on the bench. The metal was entirely too clean and dry for the location, but the second woman only smirked to herself and leaned farther forward on her motorcycle, which was parked directly next to the bench.

It wasn’t technically allowed in the park, but no one seemed to notice. A combination of a little demonic influence and plenty of very human distraction. The trick wasn’t that they didn’t notice _her,_ it was that once they noticed her, they had eyes for very little else. Long leather boots cut off just above her knee, leaving her skin bare up to her hip where her poor tattered jean skirt was somehow miraculously allowing her legs to stay straddled across the seat of the bike without rolling up higher. Her skin steadfastly refused to show any acknowledgement toward the exposure to the cold, though it did proudly sport a startlingly realistic tattoo of a red, scaly tail, running from under her skirt and twisting around her right leg until it disappeared beneath the top of the boot. Her long, wavy black hair fell to the middle of her back, spilling out from under her open-faced helmet.

A cop approached them, riding a bicycle. “Morning,” he said flatly, stopping before the two women.

“Morning, officer,” the woman on the motorcycle said with a wink. He suddenly shifted uncomfortably on his seat, a pink tinge creeping into his cheeks that had nothing to do with the autumn chill.

“Right. Uh, as I was saying, uh, good ride. I mean ride safe! Ah. Yeah. I enjoy your—I mean enjoy your stay!”

The first woman tsked lightly as the cop rode away, the man looking quite flushed and confused. “Must you do that around me?” She wasn’t even looking at the cop, keeping her gaze fixed instead on her companion’s eyes with a frown. She was quite the opposite to her friend. Where the second woman draped languorously over the fuel tank, the first sat primly upright, peach peacoat immaculate and grey boots not nearly wet enough for their multiple trips so far to procure coffee for the freezing masses. Her blonde hair was tied back into a simple half-ponytail at the back of her head, accessorized only with a little golden pin that looked a bit like an ancient Greek shield. Blue eyes a touch too close to indigo to look entirely natural studied her friend’s expression.

“I didn’t do anything!”

“Jezebel.”

The second woman’s grin only widened. “Honestly, Cinnabuns!”

Cinnabuns – who was not actually named Cinnabuns, as much as Jezebel may insist that she ought to change it – hummed tunelessly. “Really, dear heart, you expect me not to notice glamor?”

Jezebel grimaced. “I’m always using glamor, doesn’t count. Besides, I thought you couldn’t see it.”

“I may be able to see through your tricks, but it does not mean that I cannot observe them.” She paused, tilting her head a few degrees in subdued curiosity. “You’ve taken to green eyes lately.”

“Yeah, well maybe I’m just trying to get in the spirit of unrepressed commercialism,” Jezebel said, scowling. “Christmas is right around the corner, you know. Only have couple of months to ruin people’s credit.”

Not-Cinnabuns raised an eyebrow. “The illusion is quite beautiful. But I still think fewer people would mind than you claim.”

“And you’re still wrong,” Jezebel replied, eyes – now a burning, deep red – flashing dangerously. But before she could strike out, they were interrupted by a third woman striding up to them. Unlike the other humans to approach the couple that morning, this one hardly gave Jezebel a second glance. She smiled pleasantly at the blonde woman, tucking a thus-far unnecessary umbrella under her arm (Jezebel hated being rained on).

“Saffron! Wonderful to see you,” she bubbled, helping herself to the miraculously clean and dry bench. “I’m terribly sorry, I was going to bring you one of those chocolate-coffees, but there was a woman on the way here who looked just so downtrodden, and, well, we don’t really _need_ a coffee, do we?”

Jezebel let out a long, exasperated groan as Saffron positively beamed. “Precisely my outlook as well. Especially in this weather.”

“There’s no weather!” Jezebel exclaimed. “It will not rain one drop while we’re out here!”

“And I understand there’ve been some troubles with access to housing in this area?” the new woman commented, entirely ignoring Jezebel.

“I’m afraid so, poor dears. Working so hard, too. I do think I may purchase a few more before we leave. It brightens their days so.”

Jezebel grumbled something about angels and hellfire and scooted her bike backward by several feet, tracing a pattern in the dirt with the toe of her boot. With a low growl of words not meant to be heard nor understood by mortal ears, the pattern burst to life with red fire. A man clambered out of the ground, looking around widely.

“Ah, what the fuck? Jeeeez, you know what that does to a corporation’s stomach…”

Jezebel huffed unsympathetically. “You were late. These two are planning too much good. It’s making me nauseous.”

The man combed a hand over his ginger hair, brushing out the dirt and slicking it into the kind of naturally messy style that took most people hours of work to achieve. “Well, I’ll here to wile away—oh, Vasa!”

“Ato!” the newcomer exclaimed, even more pleased than she had been to see Saffron. “What a wonderful surprise!” They strode toward one another and embraced as old friends, Vasa even going so far as to ruffle Ato’s immaculate hair. “Are we to be working together again, then?”

Saffron raised an eyebrow and Jezebel frowned. “You don’t ever work together. You never _have_ worked together, and you never _will_ work together,” Saffron reminded them in a soft but unwavering voice.

“And if you want us to keep feeling charitable toward overlooking the coincidences of your meetings, start putting a little more effort into it, yeah?” Jezebel added. She pointed at Ato. “You especially. You give me more headaches than anyone else stationed here except her,” she said, nodding toward Saffron. “But at least it’s her _job._ ”

Ato turned back to Jezebel with his best charming grin plastered across his face, one arm still draped over Vasa’s shoulders. “Aw, Jez, that stings. _Anyone_ else?”

“Combined.”

“What about the ol’ snake?”

“He’s got a far better sense of self-preservation than you do,” Jezebel growled, but without any of the heat her growl could hold when she was truly making a threat.

Ato released Vasa regardless. The demon and angel had grown quite fond of one another over their years stationed as each other’s adversaries. In truth, they were hardly unique for it. Plenty of angels and demons were friendly enough toward one another in their off hours, after their respective blessings or temptings had been checked off the lists and the memos sent off to their head offices. Some had been friends in full before half of the heavenly host was cast into Hell and continued some level of approachability with one another, within reasonable limits.

Most of these ethereal or occult beings had several things in common. None were fervently dedicated to the ultimate goals of their own sides. Loyal, certainly, but one could remain loyal without overtly going above and beyond expectations. Most had been stationed on Earth for multiple rotations culminating in long stretches of time outside the direct influence of their superiors. Most were a touch more intelligent than their counterparts back home, thus resulting in their multiple rotations on Earth. Understanding humans took some level of mental flexibility and reframing perspectives that not all angels or demons possessed.

And nearly all were under the direct supervision of one Virtue of Heaven and one Duke of Hell involved in the exact same dangerous dance as they were.

Really, the only thing that made Ato and Vasa unique in their friendship was their stubborn refusal to properly hide it. That, and their disturbing ability to sniff out their other like-minded colleagues. They certainly weren’t the closest pair – that particularly dangerous honor went to one ineffable duo currently stationed in London – but Jezebel personally thought they were the most likely to start the next rebellion.

Messy business, rebelling. Ato ought to know better.

Jezebel supposed she ought to know better, too.

Saffron cleared her throat, producing a neat binder from the ether and handing it over to Vasa. “You will both be stationed here for the foreseeable future. We project significant shift and growth in the area in the coming decades. Vasa, you are to influence the locals into creating a cultural haven. Suppress bigotry, encourage love, the usual.”

“Ato,” Jezebel said, curling one finger at him in a lazy but clear ‘come here’ motion. He grimaced, but left Vasa’s side and knelt beside the front wheel of the bike. Jezebel tapped one long, black claw that certainly hadn’t looked quite so demonic before onto the top of his head, and Ato grunted.

“…Right. Got it,” he mumbled, getting to his feet with a little difficulty. “Hey, you know, I bet Dagon would absolutely _love_ that binder shit. Loads more files for everyone to keep track of. We should give that a shot sometime. See, Saffron just _trusts_ her people to do their jobs without dropping it right into their brains.”

“Except you lot fuck up your jobs if we don’t spell them out for you,” Jezebel said mildly. “If you can’t do all of it, focus on Bezos and Dowling. Those are your two most important assignments. Oh, and you two, use some _discretion_ while you’re here. Satan’s got some…” She made a motion with her hands that may have vaguely articulated a plan in only the most imaginative of minds. “Things. Anyway, I’ll be in the weeds for a while. Hastur and Ligur are going to be covering my duties.”

All three supernatural entities looked surprised at that. “You never mentioned that to me,” Saffron murmured, deep blue eyes awash in worry.

“Oi, you can’t expect me to push a _tech_ empire into evil under _Hastur_! He’s still croaking around somewhere in the 1700’s! The first ones!” Ato exclaimed.

“You could have arranged our assignments with a touch more discretion if you knew there was going to be extra danger,” Vasa pointed out, looking more annoyed than worried.

Jezebel waved an unconcerned hand. “Ah, you’ll be fine. Saffron will look after you. Cinnabuns, be a dear and keep my people from getting discorporated where you can, yeah? Perfect. Right. Well, you,” she said, pointing to Ato, “remember to be bad, no sharing, and contact Hell _immediately_ when Harriet gets pregnant.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Offices of Hell - 4004 BC**

There hadn’t been much in the way of organization at first – at least, not in Hell’s modern, nightmarishly bureaucratic sense of the word. The higher offices, the lords and dukes and marquesses and viscounts, loosely but not exactly corresponded with the demons’ previous ranks in heaven. The Prince of Hell, Beelzebub, was personally chosen by Lucifer. The lords and dukes were the first to drag themselves free of the sulfur pits, shake out their burned wings, and set about making the world a worse place. They tended to have been more powerful angels, but a few were just First Sphere nobodies with a particularly venomous outlook on Heaven.

The rest were left to fight it out amongst themselves. The demonic way.

When it finally occurred to one of the lords that their ranking system might possibly actually _mean_ something were they to collect themselves some minions, Hell’s hierarchy was set by the most dignified, reasonable approach available – every ranking demon ran around the pits and tagged lesser, unsuspecting demons as their own.

And thus, Crawly, now-famed Serpent of Eden, found himself sitting in front of Duke Jaelzibaal and wishing very much that she had not been the one to hover above his particular landing pit and declare him and his fellow fallen angels her new minions.

He’d been lauded as a hero when he returned to report his success. Beelzebub had been so impressed something passing for a smile may have approached the general vicinity of their face, Dagon had been uproariously telling everyone they really had Heaven now, even Satan hadn’t had a complaint. ‘Finish reporting and get back up there.’ He was going back to Earth! Back out of this miserable pit.

Except ‘finish reporting’ included actually speaking with his superior, which he had avoided doing.

Jaelzibaal’s face had remained impassive through the entirety of the report. She leaned in closer when he started describing how he Tempted Eve to take the apple, even though it was forbidden. “Tell me again.”

Crawly swallowed, wondering if it would be rude to transform back into a snake, and then wondering if being rude was actually the proper thing to do. He was still getting a handle on this whole ‘demon’ business. “I just said ‘Go on, give it a taste. God wouldn’t put anything in the garden that could harm you, right? You said so yourself.’”

Jaelzibaal’s eyes bore into his. No demon’s eyes looked quite right anymore. Some were pale, ghostly blue, too flat to be beautiful, and some were solid rings of black. Others, like Crawly’s, were their own marks. The unchangeably demonic flashing blimp advert screaming ‘Hi, over here, look at me, evil supernatural entity coming your way!’.

Duke Jaelzibaal’s were a scorching red, not unsimilar to the spouts of hellfire creating tasteful corner columns in her office. But red wasn’t uncommon either – no, the scary thing about her eyes was the intelligent scrutiny with which she considered him. As if she were considering things far beyond his measly comprehension. “Did she?”

Crawly blinked. It was an entirely unnecessary act, which made the reaction all the more intentional. “Did she eat the apple? Well, yeah, that’s what started the whole thing.”

“Did she say herself that God would not put anything in the garden to harm her?”

Crawly frowned, trying to remember all their conversations. There had been quite a few. One of which had included what may have been the very first philosophical debate in human history. “Ah. Yes, she did. Very adamant about it, too. Tried to stomp on my head when I suggested God might be a liar.”

Jaelzibaal snapped her fingers, and a smooth, smoky mirror appeared on the obsidian table between them. “Put your hand on it.”

“On…you want my scaly prints all over your mirror? Mind, it might improve the reflection—”

“Crawly.”

“Improve being a bad thing, obviously, your disgrace – er, a good thing? A thing we don’t want, your current appearance definitely screams Hell—”

“Crawly.”

“What with the horns and tail and – and – is your hair actually on fire? That’s a nice touch, that, very infernal—"

“Crawly, do you want to place your hand there of your own volition or shall I remove it for you first?”

Crawly grimaced and put his hand on the mirror. It immediately shattered, and Crawly was about to make some quip about being too devilishly handsome even for Hell, but was stopped by a searing pain all though his palm. The shards bit into him, jumping into his skin, burrowing through his flesh until they were covered in black blood and then burrowing back out. He pulled back instinctively, but Jaelzibaal casually reached across the desk and held his wrist down, looking almost bored.

Once all the shards were entirely coated in blood, they settled back into place and coalesced once more into a smooth surface, now as inky black as the midnight sky. Crawly yanked his bleeding hand back as Jaelzibaal leaned forward, inspecting the mirror. Shapes were forming, fuzzy and meaningless at first. One of them spoke.

_‘I am hungry.’_

_‘Well go on, then. There’sss food everywhere. How about thisss one?’_

Crawly winced. He hadn’t realized he sounded so…different. Well, he supposed he wasn’t using his voice for celestial harmonies anymore. No reason to waste beauty on a demon.

_‘Oh, no. Not that one.’_

_‘Why not? It looks nice. Quite red.’_

_‘It is forbidden.’_

_‘Forbidden? That seems sort of silly, doesn’t it?’_

The shapes were forming into something more familiar – still all smoke and shadows, but with more discernable features. A woman, looking more like a wraith or wisp than a human, sitting on the ground next to a coiled black snake, staring as the branches of a tree.

_‘How so?’_

_‘Well, why would God put something so pretty and delicious in the middle of the garden, which you’re supposed to survive off of, and then tell you not to eat it? Is it dangerous?’_

_‘God would never put anything dangerous in the garden. She loves us too much for that.’_

_‘Huh. Ssssoooo either the tree isn’t dangerous, and probably shouldn’t be forbidden, or it is dangerous and that’s why it’s forbidden and God’s a liar.’_

The shadowy woman kicked out at the snake, who let out a surprised hiss and recoiled.

_‘Bit tesssty today, Eve? That wasssssn’t very nicccce.’_

_‘Oh, I suppose it wasn’t. I’m terribly sorry, Snake.’_ She sounded genuine about it. Poor woman hadn’t known any other way to communicate yet.

 _‘Sssssss’alright.’_ The snake coiled around her, and Eve started stroking its head absentmindedly, staring at the tree. Crawly remembered how good the warmth of her skin had felt under his scales and dearly hoped the mirror wouldn’t find a way to show it. They stayed that way for a long time.

_‘You may be right.’_

_‘Ngk?’_

_‘About the tree.’_

_‘Oh. Well, I don’t really know. But why not, eh?’_

_‘It’s the Tree of Knowledge. Those who eat of its fruit shall Know good and evil.’_

_‘Wait, that’s it? Then what’s the big problem?’_

_‘God_ forbade _it, Snake.’_

 _‘Right, ‘courssse. You should probably listen. I mean, what benefit could possssibly come of knowing more?’_ Sarcasm hadn’t been strictly invented yet – not for humans, anyway – but Eve still seemed to grasp some disingenuity to his voice. She booped him on the nose.

 _‘Snake.’_ It was fond. Warm. Loving, even. Crawly cringed and shrunk inward, wondering if he could somehow do the opposite of shedding his skin and cocoon himself in more protective layers. Jaelzibaal quirked an eyebrow, sending a little stream of smoke into the air, but otherwise did not acknowledge the companionship. _‘Stop being bad.’_

_‘Sure, sure. I’ll stop being bad, and you stop being human, deal?’_

Eve giggled, continuing to stroke Crawly’s dark scales. _‘I don’t really know if you are bad.’_

_‘Oh, I’m bad. Very bad. The baddessst. ‘Sssss part of my job, innit?’_

_‘You keep saying that, but you’ve been such a kind friend to me.’_

Jaelzibaal _did_ look up at that one, leveling Crawly with a bloody crimson stare. Crawly swallowed. “All just a…just a trick. Get her to trust me. You know…wiles, and…and whatnot…”

_‘If only there were some way you could know exactly how bad I wassss.’_

_‘Oh, now you’re just being silly.’_

_‘That’sss me. Sssilly, bad snake. Not allowed to be sssilly if you’re an angel, you know that? Kick you right out of Heaven._ ’ The snake coiled higher, raising his head in the approximate imitation of a shrug. _‘I guess you wouldn’t know that. Dissstinguishing characteristics between angels and demons. Not really for you to know.’_

_‘I don’t think there’s much of a difference to know. You and the angels are both beautiful and unique and creatures of God.’_

The snake hissed in discontent. _‘Trussst me, Eve, not all of usss are on great termssss with God.’_

_‘She still loves you.’_

_‘She doesn’t.’_

_‘She does.’_

_‘Definitely doesn’t.’_

It…went on for some time. Crawly shifted uncomfortably as the corner of Jaelzibaal’s mouth twitched. The inky blackness lent to the mirror by his blood was starting to fade, and Crawly silently hoped Jaelzibaal wouldn’t decide to recoat it. Everything in Hell hurt, but not everything hurt _equally._

 _‘Fine, then. I’ll prove it to you.’_ And just like that, Eve shrugged herself free of Crawly, strode confidently to the Tree, and altered the course of humanity.

Jaelzibaal didn’t seem all that interested in the events that played out after. The bright light of God flooding the garden and nearly discorporating Crawly, the Guardians of the gates sealing up the entrances, the tears and fear from both humans at the prospect of leaving their sanctuary. Crawly looked up, wondering if he would be allowed to leave now that Jaelzibaal had seen what she needed to. But just as the mirror’s smoky figures were fading into nothingness, the last interaction Crawly had with Eve played out.

Even as she was leaving, hand in hand with Adam, she leaned toward the bushes Crawly had curled himself tightly into to wait out the angelic parade and softly whispered _‘She does.’_

Crawly froze.

Jaelzibaal froze.

And a place burning with as much fire as Hell should have prevented the icy feeling growing in Crawly’s chest.

“I don’t think she—” Crawly started when he couldn’t take the silence any longer.

“I see knowledge included—” Jaelzibaal said simultaneously. Both demons paused. Crawly looked down. “The ability to lie,” Jaelzibaal finished. It sounded like she was attempting to be matter-of-fact, but Crawly had discovered where he used to be able to sense love and kindness and hope, he now felt rage and desire and hate. All three rolled off Jaelizbaal like a tsunami. The desk cracked between them.

“Your work is commendable,” she continued in level voice even as the columns of hellfire doubled in size. “You didn’t even use a miracle to tempt her, did you? Just…the truth.”

Crawly wasn’t sure what to make of that. “Weeeelll, I mean, it’s not like I make a big habit of…of truthiness. Just, you know. When it suits me. I suppose. Ngk.”

“Mm.” Jaelizbaal’s gaze had fallen back to the mirror, now completely silver. “You’ll come down here only to report for now, I think.” She snapped a finger, and a ladder appeared beside them. “Up you go, then.”

“Er. Right.” Crawly wasn’t about to argue or point out that he hadn’t actually received any instruction.

“Oh, and Crawly,” Jaelzibaal said just as he finished transforming into a snake to slither up the rungs. “She lied.”

Crawly nodded and slithered up to Earth. He didn’t want to know which ‘she’ Jaelzibaal was referring to.


	3. Chapter 3

**Rosario – 2006 AD**

Jezebel grimaced at the man sitting before her.

She’d been through plenty of options on her quest to find the perfect host. She’d seen desperation, addiction, poverty and loneliness and war and every other horrible situation people found themselves facing alone with no God to save them and only Satan offering a way out. But all the women she found had been tinged with hope. A dangerous pathogen to carry on the soul that would bring the antichrist into the world.

Rosario wasn’t even supposed to be an option. She just needed a _vacation,_ a place with a fun atmosphere and the sort of tentatively debaucherous nightlife that came from too many close memories of riots and unrest but without any real danger of them starting again. And, really, she should check up on Zagathar. He’d been going by some local name for a while – Pocho or Poncho or something – but it seemed his angelic counterpart had gained nearly complete control over the region in the last few years.

They had limited time to gather souls now. She couldn’t overlook a loss of territory like that.

Talking to the man before her, though, Jezebel couldn’t help but wonder if her mysteriously missing agent for Argentina was perhaps not so missing after all. It sickened her to think that someone _God_ created could hold such a lecherous outlook without a touch of demonic influence.

And, more importantly for Jezebel, the daughter he was offering up didn’t brighten at all when Jezebel took her into a separate room and asked how she would like to be treated like a queen. At least for the next nine months. No, she’d had all trace of hope thoroughly beaten out of her by now.

Well. Hail Satan, and all that.

“Right. I’ll take her,” Jezebel announced after a cursory demonic miracle to ensure the woman – not even a woman, really, she was just a girl – was physically capable of the job. She hadn’t even used her glamor during the process, letting the man see her burning red eyes, the lizard horns poking out of her head amongst a mess of dark curls. He’d been more concerned with securing a currency that could be spent in the mortal world than with the fact that he was selling his own daughter to an honest-to-Satan _demon._

“Payment first,” the man insisted, holding his hand out expectantly as if Jezebel was going to conjure a wad of cash from the ether. She conjured a contract instead and flashed a fanged smile.

“Sure. Just sign on the dotted line.” It was old-fashioned. A stupid, paperwork-laden way to secure one soul at a time used mostly by demons who had no business being topside in the first place. Jezebel didn’t even bother using binding magic. The man’s soul was already so damned she could have handed him over to the direct guidance of Saffron and still been confident in his descent into Hell. She just couldn’t believe he was being so brazen about it, and some twisted, grotesquely…eugh… _hopeful_ part of her wanted this idiotic human to realize what he was doing and reconsider the long-term consequences of making a deal with the devil.

Literally.

“I will be the richest man in Argentina for the rest of my life,” he said, actually reading over the contract. So, despite having a stomach-churning aura about him that would give even some demons pause, he wasn’t entirely stupid. His actions were of his own doing.

Jezebel was probably doing God a favor, taking him down to Hell. She tried not to dwell on that.

“And no, I will not be making everyone else poor. The only accounts that will change will be yours,” she said, tapping on the paper.

The man’s lips curled into a grin that held more venom than even Crowley on his worse day, and Crowley’s fangs could produce actual venom. Jezebel returned the smile and snapped her fingers.

Idiot should have insisted on specific length of time.

“Right,” Jezebel said to the girl as she watched her father’s tongue curl backwards down his throat, slowly suffocating him. The girl finally betrayed some hint of emotion. Not hope. Just relief. “You are about to become an incredibly rich heiress. I suggest you plan the next nine months accordingly. Starting with a spa day, I think. Nobody’s quite as beautiful as Lucifer was, but he does like it when people try.”

Jezebel turned to leave, scaly tail swaying lazily behind her, when the girl finally spoke up.

“Duchess? What happens after?”

Jezebel paused. What happens after? “Everything, my dear.”

**Heavenly Offices of Appeals - 2006 AD**

Saffron’s ethereal fingers traced over the incomplete sections of Form 156-48862b-ii for at least the thousandth time. She hadn’t even started Form 156-48862b-i (review of sins) or Form 156-48862a (soul identification). The first would take ages to fill out properly, and the second…

Well. She wasn’t entirely prepared to leave such information unguarded in her heavenly office, no matter how supposedly virtuous her colleagues.

So she once again stared in quiet frustration at Form 156-48862b-ii. Specifically Section IV. “Repentance of sins.”

How did one convince one’s heavenly superiors that a Duke of Hell had shown true repentance?

Saffron knew it was possible for a demon to Rise back to an angel. There had been thousands of Appeals for Reversal of Eternal Damnation of a Soul filled out immediately following the first rebellion. Angels had lost the closest of friends, brothers and sisters, true soulmates and eternal companions. Of course they had appealed.

A few had even succeeded. Demons who had Fallen by the slimmest of margins, who clung to their Heavenly homes and climbed out of the sulfur pits only to drop to their knees and beg forgiveness from the Almighty. Demons who made better angels because they now knew true fear, who would obey Heaven’s every command, no matter how questionable, to avoid returning to those burning pools.

Saffron sighed, inkless quill tracing over the empty boxes. “Repentance of sins.”

How did one appeal for the Rise of a demon who was actually quite good at her job?

_One doesn’t,_ Saffron reminded herself.

But she was running out of options. ‘A world that shall last for six thousand years and end in fire and flame.’ ‘Six thousand years’ was really more of an estimate. She could still have several more centuries, for all she knew – after all, the actual six thousand year mark had come and gone with little more than a nervous chuckle from a few other Virtues and some grumbling about leaving it to the side with Sloth from the Archangels.

But the world was going to end, and one side was going to be wiped from existence. Probably Hell.

She sighed, miracled ink into her quill, and started considering what actions could be reinterpreted as repentance.


	4. Chapter 4

**Corfe Castle – January 2007 AD**

What happens after?

Jezebel turned the question over in her head. She’d been turning it over ever since she took the girl back to one of her earthly residences in Corfe Castle after Satan had ensured she was carrying his son. The castle was closed now, of course. Temporarily deemed too dangerous for the tourism industry. Just as it always was when Jezebel decided to return to it for some extended period.

She didn’t have to do much. Keep the girl safe and healthy, ensure she stayed out of the eye of the public, didn’t go getting any ideas about hope or love or compassion. It was a stupidly easy job. One she wished took a little more effort. A difficult charge may have kept her preoccupied, may have kept her mind from wandering.

What happens after?

Well, they fight. Heaven and Hell. The last great battle. Earth destroyed, life exterminated, and one side wiped from existence forever.

More than half of them – angles or fallen angles – just…gone.

Jezebel growled to herself, and Girl turned over fitfully in her sleep. She didn’t know Girl’s name and didn’t want to. Didn’t matter. Girl was just a vessel now. A vessel who tended to have nightmares when her demonic caretaker started to sulk.

It was a lose-lose situation. Even the side that won would lose lives, and it wasn’t as if true angels or demons could just reproduce. Lesser creatures could be made, of course, but an imp wasn’t really a demon. It was just a creature made in Hell, for Hell.

She’d been planning on telling Saffron when they met up in Seattle a few years ago. Had pulled Ato for some hastily concocted assignment to give him the chance to say goodbye to Vasa, like she’d done with so many of her demonic minions who had become friendly with their angelic counterparts over the years. They were the last ones to assign. And then Saffron was sitting there, the absolute image of angelic patience and forgiveness and love all wrapped around a hidden but widely alive warrior spirit that had been the only thing keeping Jezebel from trying to get herself permanently smited for ages now. _‘Right then, I’m off to start Armageddon, nice knowing you, hope we don’t run each other through on doomsday!’_

Hadn’t really worked out.

She’d been excited enough to start Armageddon a few thousand years ago, back when she originally volunteered to find a host when the time came. Relieved at the prospect of an end. She hadn’t particularly cared then whether it be an end to Hell or Heaven – either way, there would be millions of celestial weapons being brandished about. It would be an end to her.

But a few thousand years ago, she hadn’t had a team. She’s accidently let the term slip to Satan himself one day when reporting in about restructuring the slave trade. “Going well – whole team’s been pulling their weight.” (They had been, just not in the way they were supposed to. Crowley had bought his fair share of slaves, but he kept ‘accidently’ falling asleep for several weeks with pre-arranged transportation out of Europe arriving to take them away. Ato had taken to spreading dissent among…well, everyone. Zagathar was directly responsible for the deaths of several prominent traders. Dozens more demons spread across the globe continued to commit objectively evil actions that were perhaps not quite so evil in the grand scheme. Protected in Hell by their supervisor’s careful twisting of words, as always.) 

Satan had raised an eyebrow at that, but his concern was straightforward. “Does it work?”

“Better than them working alone.” And, just in case he started getting any ideas about expanding beyond the carefully selected circle Jezebel had cultivated over the centuries, she pointed a claw meaningfully at his face. “And don’t you start messing with my formula, most of us aren’t built for this sort of thing and if you start throwing more Hasturs or Dagons topside, it’ll ruin the whole balance.” She cleared her throat. “Sir.”

And with a laugh, Satan had as good as given her his…well, cursing. A blessing would be a bad thing, for a demonic team.

And now Armageddon was approximately eleven years and four months away, and Jezebel had either doomed her team or doomed her best friend’s team to extinction. Maybe both. _Great leader, aren’t you, Jez?_

Girl let out a soft, strangled cry in her sleep, and Jezebel glanced at her. She couldn’t stop Armageddon. It was written. Part of God’s Great Fucking Plan. But maybe…well, Corfe Castle was really only being held in a livable state because the resident Duke of Hell expected it to befit her status. One little slip, and Girl could easily be crushed under crumbling stonework.

She could delay Armageddon. Maybe give her and Saffron’s earthly teams some warning, since she hadn’t had the courage to do so directly. Jezebel would be dragged down to the deepest pit until the end, of course, but it wasn’t as if she hadn’t been there before. Or maybe, since she had already experienced Hell’s most dedicated torturers and it hadn’t fixed anything, they would just kill her. Use one of the backchannels and call in a favor from Michael.

Win-win situation, really.

Her fingers flicked down, preparing to snap upward, dragging power from Hell to tinker with Earth.

And froze.

“That’s…huh.” She tried again. But she couldn’t do it. The power wouldn’t jump to her being, her fingers stayed still as if entirely outside of her own control. “What the Heaven…”

 _Oh._ Well, that made sense, she supposed. The Antichrist. Lord of Darkness. Spawn of Satan. Her Prince.

Her eyes fell on Girl, who wasn’t sleeping any longer. She sat in her down-feathered bed, comforter gathered around her knees, and hugged her belly protectively, huge eyes staring at Jezebel.

Jezebel laughed. “Go back to sleep, Girl. Turns out I can’t hurt the little shit even if I wanted to.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Heavenly Offices of Guidance – 3552 BC**

“It’s just a one-time thing. A favor,” Gabriel explained, shuffling tablets across a pristine table. Prayers, from what Saffron could see. There were getting to be so many of them, and correctly classifying prayers directed to gods other than Her was getting to be such a hassle the archangels were restructuring their departments. “We only have four on Earth anyway. Shouldn’t take long.” His voice ticked a few too many notes toward pleading to pass as his clearly intended reassurance, but it didn’t bother Saffron.

“It will be no trouble at all,” Saffron assured him, hands folded neatly before her waist.

Gabriel braced her arms, grinning with a bit too much relief. “I knew I could count on you, Saffron! We’ll have a few corporations to choose from. Michael isn’t able to go down either…you can change the features around a bit, of course, make sure it fits well.”

“Of course.” Saffron doubted she would change much, if anything. How hard could one trip down to Earth be, after all?

“Come here, I’ll show you how to navigate,” Gabriel said, leading her to the Earth. It wasn’t a replica. Not exactly. It really was the Earth, just…shifted into an ethereal plane instead of a physical one. Gabriel explained the inner mechanisms as Saffron listened patiently. By the time he was finished, a handful of corporations were standing ready beside them.

“So we can pinpoint our own. That’s fascinating,” Saffron said, waving a hand over a section near the Mediterranean. A little golden dot appeared on the western coast of the massive peninsula that jutted into the ocean. She did the same across the bottom section of Africa, and another dot appeared near the southernmost tip.

“And the enemy,” Gabriel said, waving his own hand over the Mediterranean as well. “But it’s a little less…precise…huh.”

Saffron gasped, grabbed the closest corporation, and dove down. She skipped some of the protocols that would allow the corporation to fully contain her nature, but it didn’t matter, because the little black dot was practically on top of Aziraphale.

**Vesuvius – 3552 BC**

Aziraphale sniffed as something in the air shifted distinctly toward the scent of brimstone. He stood, politely excused himself, and pushed past the woven mat door just in time to intercept the Serpent of Eden.

“Aziraphale! Fancy seeing you in a hole like this.” The demon grinned, doubtlessly trying to appear friendly but flashing a few too many teeth to instill any sense of ease.

“Crawly,” Aziraphale acknowledged him politely, if a bit stiff. They had run into one another a number of times in the last few centuries. Other angels and demons came and went, but Crawly was quickly becoming Aziraphale’s most common inhuman visitor. Aziraphale, for his part, was uncertain how he felt about this development.

On the one wing, Aziraphale reasoned that having a single consistent adversary (for Crawly was, for all his flaws, quirks, and eccentricities, consistent in his unannounced appearances at Aziraphale’s side – about twice a century) made it much easier for Aziraphale to study him and deduce from observation the most reliable methods of thwarting him. On the other…well. It wasn’t exactly a written _rule_ that angels and demons were supposed to fight whenever they encountered one another, but Aziraphale had never seen a reaction from one of his fellow angels other than crackling fingers and enthusiastic smiting when a demon appeared. Never Crawly, thank G– well, thanks to his own fortune and cunning, Aziraphale supposed.

He tried not to dwell on the uncomfortable feeling in the pit of his stomach at the thought of Crawly being smited to nothing but a glowing stump. Instead, he focused on the toothy grin in front of him. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh, I dunno. Don’t think Below really pays attention to where they toss me up. I _was_ having a nice nap in Egypt. All sorts of perfect sunning spots.” He squinted up at the sun, holding a hand up to shade yellow eyes that were surrounded by more white than Aziraphale could remember seeing. “This place isn’t half bad. Where are we?”

“We’re on a rather large peninsula on the northern shores of the Mediterranean,” Aziraphale informed him, trying not to stare too obviously at his eyes. They looked almost…human. The irises were still blown too far into the sclera to pass upon inspection, but at a glance…

“Huh. Nice.” Crawly moved his hand away, and in response to the light, his pupils shrank to slits, shattering the momentary illusion. Aziraphale shook himself. Crawly’s eyes shouldn’t shock him – he was a _demon_ , _the_ Serpent. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh, just checking in on some of the locals,” Aziraphale answered cheerfully before it struck him that perhaps he should not be cheerfully answering the enemy’s questions.

“Course, course. Life of excitement for the Guardian of the Eastern Gate, eh? This your punishment for the whole sword thing?” Crawly grinned, and though Aziraphale knew he should be offended or reprimand Crawly for the jest, he could not stop the smile gracing his lips.

Good Lord, what was wrong with him?

“Oh, they have something I think you will _quite_ enjoy. Come, come!” He didn’t know if the demon ate sweets. It seemed like he would – gluttony, and all that – but the humans were starting to develop interesting things with pulled honey. He simply had to share.

Crawly smirked with amusement. “Alright,” he agreed, and followed Aziraphale. Just in time, too. It looked like a thunderstorm was rolling in.

**Halls of the Dukes, Hell – 3552 BC**

_She lied._

Jaelzibaal had paced a trench in the floor. She’d had plenty of time to do so, agonizing over Crawly’s apple story every free moment she had for almost five hundred years.

God couldn’t still love them. This? This existence? This constant misery, being ripped from their family and loved ones and having the Light torn from their very beings? Having their souls shattered into a million broken pieces and thrown haphazardly back together, so rough edges wore away at one another and jagged bits sliced with every movement? No one would force this upon anyone they loved.

 _She lied._ God told them they were her children. That She made them, whole and perfect, and She would love them forever. And then cast them out for being who they were. If they were made perfect, why ever a need for a rebellion? Why such a brutal punishment? Was God embarrassed for what She had created and tried to sweep Her mistakes under a rug before trying Her hand again with humans?

Humans were far from perfect, though. Half of them ended up in Hell alongside the first mistakes. The only difference, really, between the demonic and the human souls that occupied Hell was that the demons got there first. Well, that, and demonic miracles, but still. Demons just had time to get used to their environment and set up a good system for grasping at some form of therapy by torturing anyone lesser.

Some lesser demons had been absolutely elated when the first human souls came along.

What was the point of even existing if they were just going to be stuck here? Why cast Her enemies into an adversarial fortress, where they could plan and scheme and work to bring humans down with them? Why couldn’t the punishment for misdeeds just be oblivion? The absence of Heaven, rather than the opposite of it?

Why couldn’t God have just let them all die?

The walls of Hell suddenly felt too close, the fires too consuming. She needed out. She needed to let her anger and hatred burn off into something that wasn’t already a boiling pit. The transportation portal she had just sent Crawly up should still be open. And she still had a perfectly good corporation from the last few times she had visited Earth directly.

Jaelzibaal grabbed the rope ladder and pulled herself upward, half using her wings and half her arms, until both were exhausted. Finally, she broke the surface and took a deep breath. Air. Cool, natural air. Not the perfect, pristine atmosphere of Heaven, but it was so much better than Hell it may as well have been.

In fact…it smelled a lot like Heaven.

Jaelzibaal frowned, looking up at the gathering storm clouds overhead. Something was flying closer. Something with four wings and a bright spear.

Her frown turned to a smile. She had seen what those celestial weapons could do during the Rebellion. Four enormous black wings spread out around her, and she launched upward. If she got the angel angry enough, maybe Jaelzibaal would never have to go back to Hell.

**Vesuvius – 3552 BC**

The Earth itself was splitting apart.

Fertile, soft hills rumbled and shook, spreads of wildflowers bursting into flame and crumbling down to blackened ash as two winged figures shot past. The lake near the base of the mountain hissed, steam rising off it as one of the figures managed to catch the other’s wing, throwing it into the water.

In a nearby village, an odd stranger with the wrong colored hair and suspiciously soft hands was ushering confused families out of their mud-brick huts. The Virtue fighting on the other side of the fields had hardly given him any notice, which Aziraphale took as clearance to help the poor humans. After all, if the Almighty was all-knowing, She would have certainly known that the celestial skirmish would endanger the lives of her fragile creations without intervention.

And if an enormous black and red snake had slithered out of the stream to hiss threateningly at the children gathered there before said children could be swept away by the tidal wave shooting out from the lake, well, that was just scaring children, wasn’t it? That’s all he was here to do. Hiss a fellow demon on and scare some children. All nefarious, perfectly damnable, he would assure you.

Neither would need to assure anybody, though. The two warring bodies had eyes – hundreds of eyes – only for each other.

The demon shot out of the lake just as it began to boil, wings beating furiously. The angel, a Virtue of Heaven, was waiting for it, four wings spread, golden shield raised and golden spear pointed at her adversary. The weapons radiated golden light, not just reflecting the sun but seeming to act as the light’s source. The Virtue stabbed at the Duke of Hell as the demon flew overhead, but the demon knocked the spear aside with the flick of a trident.

She landed behind the angel, sending another shockwave through the ground and crumbling a just-vacated home to rubble and dust. The demon did something with her face that may have been a smirk but had too long of fangs to come across as anything but a snarl and slammed the butt of her trident into the ground.

Just as the angel’s spear glowed with holy light, the trident glowed with infernal darkness. The trident erupted in flames. The summoned hellfire licked the demon’s hands as she adjusted her grip, flying once more toward the angel. The clash of spear on trident sent tremors through the ground.

“There, there now, all will be well,” cooed Aziraphale to a trembling family as he ushered them down the hillside, flicking his fingers downward to ensure the inevitable landslide already beginning to break at the crest of the hill would not come tumbling down until they were out of range.

Once the hillside broke and Aziraphale was certain the inhabitants of the little village were not in immediate danger of being crushed under a slew of mud or being burned by splashes of scalding water, he walked to the top of a sturdier hill to watch. The Serpent slithered up beside him and coiled into a tall, sleek tower of scales. He tasted the air curiously. “Who’sss that, then? On your ssside? Don’t recognize the ssscent.”

Aziraphale didn’t need to shift his perception nearly as much as he normally did on Earth. Neither combatant restrained themselves to the confines of a truly human form. Both had all four wings spread, covered in eyes. The angel’s body seemed to be made of sunlight and gold, painful to look at directly, while the demon looked more like a half-transformed lizard than a person, with a powerful tail, sharp horns, and wine-red scales covering her entire body. But neither form, otherworldly as it was, was their true form. Neither angels nor demons made a habit of showing anyone their true form. Not anymore.

“That’s—” Aziraphale almost found himself answering the full question without even thinking. Crawly was a demon. An enemy. And it did not matter that his presence felt distinctly less aggressive and more comforting than even some of Aziraphale’s fellow angels. No, that did not matter at all. Just another trick. “A Virtue,” he said instead, primly.

“Well yeah, I could tell that,” the snake mumbled. “Right basstardss, they are.” He shifted his coils, and suddenly there was a man-shaped being with curled, flowing red hair sitting on the ground beside him. “They have to go and make a big show of everything, you know?”

Aziraphale merely hummed in agreement. The higher spheres _did_ lack a certain touch of subtlety. They certainly did nothing to help blend in on Earth. They continued to watch as the angel got a good enough hold of the demon to slam her through the earth, leaving a massive crater in the top of the overlooking mountain. Crawly tilted his head with something that might have been concern when the other demon did not immediately fly up again, if Aziraphale didn’t know better.

A horrible thought came to him as the sky started to crackle above them. “You don’t suppose they expect us to fight like that?” He held out a wing to shield Crawly and extended some of his essence into the shield as well. The smiting was meant for the demon trapped in the mountain. No reason for Crawly to get hurt.

“Nah,” Crawly said, sidling closer to Aziraphale until their feathers almost touched. The ground started to shake beneath them. “They would have given us weapons if they wanted us to fight.”

Aziraphale shifted uncomfortably.

Crawly seemed to notice. “Oh, come on, it wouldn’t have been a very fair fight, would it? You with a flaming sword and me with…what, my slithering?”

“You do have fangs.”

“Oh, kind of you to notice,” Crawly said, smiling widely so that said fangs were visible. “Still not a fair fight.” The both fell silent as the rumbling of the earth reached a peak just as a massive bolt of lightning struck down from the sky. A spout of lava erupted from the rock, and the demon shot upward on its heat, one wing sizzling and missing a significant chunk of flesh but not full smited. “Besides, we can’t do that.”

Aziraphale considered. “Have you ever actually tried?”

“What?”

“Making a volcano? Or…boiling lakes? Bringing down mountains?”

It was Crawly’s turn to consider. “Well…no. Seems a bit…much, dunnit?”

“Quite.”

They fell into silence once more. Aziraphale would have classified it as companionable silence if Crawly were a companion, and not an enemy. The volcano the demon had caused continued to swell, lava cracking through the sides of the overstuffed hills as dark clouds overhead coalesced into storm clouds.

It was some hours of fighting later before Crawly finally spoke up. “Angel? Aziraphale?”

“Hmm?”

“I don’t think they’ll notice if we just…slither off.”

Aziraphale frowned. But what if he had to step in and help the Virtue? What if there was a critical moment where they could…could kill…

He glanced down at Crawly, who, while still in relatively human form, had curled around himself in a very snakelike manner. He was perfectly dry. And Aziraphale’s wing joint was getting tired.

The Virtue had the Duke cornered against a boulder field. The Duke was holding her ground, but clearly at a disadvantage without a shield of her own. There was only so much she could do to deflect the Virtue’s spear with only a trident. If Aziraphale stepped in now, he could help. He could call down a holy bolt of lightning, or vanish the rock the demon was standing on. Distract her enough that the Virtue could take advantage. Run her through with a celestial spear. It wouldn’t discorporate the demon. It would kill her.

“I believe there’s a trade post a few miles from here. I’m sure we could get something warm to eat,” Aziraphale suggested. He offered a hand to Crawly to help him stand and turned his back to the combatants.

* * *

They had been fighting for three days and three nights, and even with the power of God and celestial lifeforce, Saffron was getting tired.

Injuries were starting to pile up, both corporeal and ethereal. One of the demon’s wings was completely useless, all the eyes blinded. A burn ran up her right side from where a holy bolt of lightning had struck close, but not directly. It oozed both blood and black ichor whenever she moved.

None of Saffron’s wings were injured, but her halo had long ago flickered out as her energy drained, and her shield arm was covered in bite marks. One leg leaked a streak of light where the trident had grazed her skin.

The fight had come to a natural lull. The demon was leaning on her trident, using it as a cane as much as a weapon while she slowly stalked her prey. Saffron waited patiently. She no longer had the energy to chase the demon down, but the scaly creature no longer possessed the same agility with one wing damaged. Saffron could outmaneuver her.

The demon stopped stalking and grinned at her. “Call it a draw?” she suggested, speaking for the first time. Saffron blinked. The demon sounded…normal. She had been expecting an animalistic growl or infernal roar.

“Hardly. We have a job to finish.”

The demon’s grin never left. “Yeah…I’d expect that from a Virtue of Patience. Alright.” Saffron frowned at the familial tone. “To the death, then, I suppose.” The demon hardly sounded worried about it. But Saffron didn’t have much time to consider, because the creature suddenly shot forward, trident aimed for Saffron’s heart.

Saffron caught and deflected the blow with her shield, and the demon used the resulting opening to swipe at her with a claw. A few feathers were cut through the middle, but Saffron’s skin did not break. The demon wrapped the barbed end of her tail around Saffron’s ankle, successful tripping her. She had to roll to the side through the mud to avoid the demon’s next strike with her trident, but could not roll far with the tail around her ankle.

But the demon had pinned herself to Saffron just as effectively as she had pinned Saffron to her. Saffron’s next jab knocked several scales from the demon’s midsection. She hissed in pain and doubled over. It was the first time she’d reacted so obviously to pain, but based on the ichor spurting from the wound, Saffron didn’t think she was faking it.

Saffron pressed the tip of her spear under the demon’s chin, and slowly, the demon laid back in the mud. Her face was twisted in pain, but she managed a grin nonetheless. “Alright. Now we know the truth. Turns out you are the better warrior, Saffron.”

She froze. No. It had to be a trick. A lie. Years ago – it felt like eons ago – before the Rebellion, before anyone had any inkling that angels could ever fight against each other, she and her dearest love wondered curiously if all Virtues were created with entirely equal combat skills, or if some were destined to be greater. But Amitiel had died in the Rebellion. She had jumped into an entire platoon full of soon-to-be-Fallen and never came back out.

There had been no body. That was true of plenty of angels. Between holy fires and the newly emerging hellfire, thousands of essences were burned into nothingness. Only celestial weapons left bodies.

“Amitiel?” Saffron breathed. She had loosened her grip on her spear. She didn’t even notice until the demon hissed loudly and wretchedly, as if Saffron had sprinkled her with holy water, and knocked the shaft away.

 _“Don’t—”_ she growled and shook her head as if trying to rid herself of an irritating sound. The scaled peeled back from her face, leaving…

“Oh Lord…” Saffron breathed, letting her spear clatter to the ground. She fell to her knees, reaching out to the demon before her. “Amitiel. It is you.”

“Ssstop it!” the demon hissed, scrambling backwards away from Saffron. Black blood lined her lips. “That’s not me. I am Jaelzibaal. I’m a fucking _demon_.”

“I thought you died,” Saffron choked, ignoring the smell of brimstone and death to crawl closer. Her soul had been crushed when she lost Amitiel. The only thing that kept her going was the knowledge that she wasn’t alone, the support of her fellow angels who too had lost their dearest friends, angels they loved so much more than the baseline requirement. “But you’re here. Amitiel.”

Amitiel convulsed, clapping her hands to her ears and shaking her head. “Stop calling me that! You were right, Amit…” She choked and coughed up smoking globules of blood. “…that angel died. I’m a fucking demon, Saffron. I’m your enemy. Kill me! That’s what you’re supposed to do!”

Saffron shakily got to her feet, pulling her spear from the mud. Amit—Jaelzibaal grinned. “That’s right,” she crooned, wiping the blood from her lips. “You won. Take your reward. Go home to your trumpets and glorious triumph.” Saffron cleaned the mud off herself with a little flick of her fingers and stumbled away from her lo—from her…enemy. She had to go home. She had to get away from here. This wasn’t right, this was too confusing. Jaelzibaal’s face fell when she started to leave. “What are you doing? Don’t…you can’t just _leave!_ You’ve won, you’re supposed to kill me! Don’t leave the job half-finished!”

The pain in the core of her being was alien. There had to be some sort of mistake. The cursing, snarling demon behind her couldn’t be Amitiel, _wasn’t_ Amitiel…so why did Saffron’s heart still ache with love? Why did she still want to take the creature in her arms and heal her wounds and sing to each other for hours on end?

It took her a few tries to draw the portal correctly. Her hands were shaking too badly, and Jaelzibaal’s snarls quickly turned to distracting screams. Cursing her, insulting her, questioning her ability to fight, and finally, just as the transportation portal back to Heaven was complete, quietly sobbing to not be left like that. “End this, Saffron. Please,” she choked. “Be merciful.”

Angels were not compelled to show mercy to demons. Saffron stepped into the portal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the severely late update. I work in healthcare and this Covid-19 stuff has taken up precedence.
> 
> Enjoy, thanks as always for reading, and stay safe!


	6. Chapter 6

**Mesopotamia - 3004 BC**

“Oh, thank you, that is most kind of you,” Aziraphale said to the child as the girl handed him yet another rock. He beamed warmly at her, and she clapped her hands and ran off to find another. Aziraphale looked down at his lap, where the caravan’s children had deposited approximately half of the oddly shaped rocks in the entire Mesopotamian region. He was going to be buried soon if he didn’t stop them.

Another rock thumped into his lap. This one had a little circle of green in one spot, which apparently qualified it for the collection. “Ah, another! How…wonderful. Thank you.” The child beamed, hugged him around the neck, and ran away.

Something in the air shimmered in that distinctly holy way. “Aziraphale!” Gabriel’s cheerful voice exclaimed from behind him. Aziraphale shifted, trying his best to turn respectfully while halfway entombed. “…Why are you sitting in the dirt?”

Aziraphale gestured to the rocks in his lap. The movement sent several tumbling to the ground. He suddenly felt very foolish. “We were…ah…playing a game.” His mind scrambled for a reason for his participation in silly human pursuits that would not be poorly interpreted. “It helps me blend in, you see,” he settled on. “Keeping up appearances. Makes it easier to keep an eye on everyone.”

“Indeed,” Gabriel conceded genially. He maintained a pleasant expression, but Aziraphale couldn’t help but feel as though he were being judged.

“And, ah, how is…” Aziraphale struggled for an appropriate topic. Heaven, Heaven, what was going on in Heaven these days? He could hardly ask Gabriel, lest it give away how little he had been paying attention to his briefings. He hadn’t physically been to Heaven in…oh, two, three centuries? Not since Gabriel’s team had adjusted the drawing of transportation circles to allow for angelic prayer without physical transportation. “How is Saffron?” he finally decided on. That had been recent, hadn’t it? In Heaven’s sense of time?

“She’s doing well. Fully recovered and all questions put to rest,” Gabriel said.

_All questions put to rest._ Not all questions answered. She had just stopped asking them, then. Aziraphale nodded. The important thing was that his fellow angel was safe. He made a mental note to inquire after the demon she had fought the next time he saw Crawley, then made a larger, bolder, underlined mental note to stop making mental notes to himself about interesting topics to bring up to the enemy.

“I have a Message for you, Aziraphale,” Gabriel said before Aziraphale could think of a polite way to respond. Something churned in Aziraphale’s aura.

“A Message?”

Gabriel nodded, then looked significantly at Aziraphale’s current state. He quickly stood, letting the collection of rocks fall to his feet. A few cracked. He almost miracled the dust away, then thought better of doing so in front of Gabriel and contented himself with brushing it off with his hands. “Alright. Good. I am ready to receive the Lord’s Message.”

Gabriel told him.

Aziraphale wasn’t ready.

* * *

“No, no, lisssten.”

“I will most certainly not.”

“Look, I’m not asking you to go against God’s bloody ineffable plan,” Crawley started. The look Aziraphale shot him told Crawley that a different approach may be needed. “I don’t think you _could_ go against it, anyway, you’re an angel, jussst…”

“Just listen? I hardly think I owe you my attention if you’re going to spit sacrilege and blasphemy.” Aziraphale answered primly. The dry, thirsty ground could no longer absorb the water pouring from the sky. It lapped at their ankles. Aziraphale carefully plucked a hamster being washed away from the water and set it on the back of a passing hyena.

Crawley ignored the jab. “You’re a guardian angel, right?”

“Oh, dear. Noah’s cutting it awfully close, isn’t he?” Aziraphale muttered, looking at all the animals that still needed to be loaded into the ark. Crawley pressed on. The angel was listening, whether he would admit it or not. The appearance of selective hearing loss against Crawley’s suggestions seemed to be the method for tolerance Aziraphale had adopted. Crawley could live with that.

“Sssso just do your job, Aziraphale!” he exclaimed. He pointed at the ark, where Shem was locking down one of the doors below deck so that the water would stop pouring in. “See that hatch Shem is closing up? Guard it.”

“Guard it,” Aziraphale repeated, picking up a pygmy hog and walking toward the ark.

“Yes!” Crawley looked around at all the scared, confused animals and decided picking them up one at a time to carry them to the boarding ramp was going to result in a lot of scared, confused, drowned animals. He transformed into a massive snake, even larger than he had been in Eden, and hissed loudly. The animals ran.

“Really,” Aziraphale muttered as the hog squealed and jumped from his arms, swimming toward the ark.

Crawley transformed back. “Worked, didn’t it? Come on, Aziraphale. You’ll just be doing your job. Making sure no harm comes to any living creature taking shelter on the ark. After all, if they’re on the ark, God must have planned it like that, right? That’s why She gave Noah instructions to build it.”

“That is the idea…” Aziraphale agreed, very, very quietly.

It was all Crawley needed. “Great.” He spread his wings, letting the feathers rip through the black robes.

“Crawley! You’ll be spotted!”

“God’s drowning everyone anyway, why does it matter?” he asked, and flew off.

* * *

**Hell - 3004 BC**

“Oh, come on now, guys, it’s not what it looks like.” Crawley gave Hastur his best charming grin, one that he had been perfecting against humans for the last millennium. Apparently, it didn’t work as well against demons. “We’re supposed to oppose God, right? So if God tries to drown everyone—”

“Your job is to spread evil. You inspired… _hope._ ” Hastur said the word as though the thing living on his head had decided to invade his esophagus and crawl out between his teeth. “We’ll have you in the pits for this, _snake._ ”

“You most certainly will not.”

Crawley felt his heart sink all the way to the tips of the scales rearranged into the approximate shape of boots at the bottom of his legs. Oh, Satan preserve him, Hastur would have his fun torturing him in the pits for a decade or two and then he’d be released, but Hastur had no sense of possibility, not a creative bone in him, no talent for personalized psychological torment, not like— “Duke Jaelzibaal! Fancy seeing you here.”

“Rare thing, I’m sure, to see a demon in Hell,” Jaelzibaal replied flatly. “Hastur, why _exactly_ are you trying to steal a torture session out of one of _my_ demons?”

Hastur smirked. Either very brave or very stupid, Crawley privately thought, wondering exactly how he was going to talk his way out of this one. Hastur and Ligur and even Beelzebub could be convinced by spinning truths and selective reporting. But if Jaelzibaal dragged him back to that blessed mirror… “Because _your demon_ spent his last forty days rescuing children.”

“He better have, I told him to,” Jaelzibaal replied without missing a single unnecessary heartbeat, crossing her arms and raising an eyebrow. “So, again, _why_ are you trying to drag him off to satisfy your torture kink when we have actual work to do?” 

Hastur’s jaw dropped. Crawley’s did too, and thank Satan all eyes were on Jaelzibaal, because his jaw did tend to unhinge and preclude any hope of subtle shock. He was certain he hadn’t received any orders to rescue innocent children. Certainly not from Jaelzibaal.

“ _You_ told him to?”

Jaelzibaal rolled her eyes and pressed two claws to her horns in much the same way humans pressed fingertips to their temples. “I swear to Satan, half of you idiots are here because you were too stupid to know up from down when Michael started ripping out feathers…what is our job?”

“You can’t—”

“Our _job_ , Duke Hastur, do you have enough functioning brainpower croaking away under that slime to remember what a demon is supposed to do?”

“Zzzzpread evil and collect zzzzoulzz for our mazzter,” came the offered answer from down the hall. Crawley briefly wondered if he could somehow sink even lower than Hell. Maybe if he willed it hard enough, he could miracle his way through the floor and no one would notice. “Duke Jaelzzzibaal, izz there a problem?”

The prudent thing, the thing most demons would have done in the irritated face of the Prince of Hell, would be to act as small and insignificant as possible, promise that everything was fine and fantastically evil, and press themselves into the wall in hopes of vanishing from the spotlight.

Jaelzibaal was apparently not feeling prudent. She threw her hands in the air. “Is there a problem? Heaven yes, there is!” She pointed at Hastur and the demons he had gathered to appropriate Crawley. “Crawley and I are working our tails off trying to set some proper groundwork for continued sin after God finishes Her hissy fit upstairs, and fucking fried frog brain over here has less foresight than a blind chicken and keeps getting in my way.”

Hastur bristled. “He was saving human children!”

“Of fucking course he was! We _should_ be saving children at every turn we can, you useless, imbecilic pile of shit!” If Crawley thought he could make it back to Earth through one of Hell’s many back doors without being missed, this would have been the perfect opportunity to try. Slip back into his snake form – a small one – and slither away. No one would see him. They were far too wrapped up in the exciting possibility of watching two dukes trying to tear each other from existence.

“Zzzaviorz are tools of the…” Beelzebub grimaced. “Oppozzition.”

“How many children’s souls do we get down here? Huh? Half a dozen a century?” Jaelzibaal scrunched her face up, tail twitching irritably. “God takes them all. Even the little fuck-ups. They’re too innocent, we don’t have a proper way to latch onto their souls. Not until they’re older and start to understand the choices they’re making and make the wrong ones anyway. Let them grow up! Crawley!” She rounded on him, and Crawley quickly shifted the scales around his face back to skin. So much for slithering away. “How many did you save?”

Crawley did something with his hands that suggested he still hadn’t quite figured out what to do with limbs, stalling. “Ah, well, I don’t – I mean, it’s a divine flood, isn’t it, there’s really no accounting for—”

“Crawley.”

“Fifty-three.” He winced the moment he answered. “Er, about. Ish. Probably.”

Jaelzibaal rounded back on Hastur. “Fifty-three souls who will grow up having watched their families drown, watched their mothers and fathers _murdered_ by the Almighty. You think they’re going to grow up with love in their hearts? With forgiveness and understanding? They’re going to reject God as hard as any of us ever did, and they’re going to bring their new communities down with them. Oh, but you, what, tempted some tribe leader’s son to feel envious of his brother today. _Really comparative._ ”

Hastur growled. “Your disrespect will not be tolerated forever, Jaelzibaal. I will pull the skin from your flesh. I will weave it into the ropes that will bind you to beds of glass, I will—”

Jaelzibaal held up a finger. “Earn it.” With a quick ‘follow me’ motion to Crawley, she turned her back on Hastur, on Beelzebub, on a dozen other demons very likely to stab them in them in exposed backs, and stalked down the hall. Crawley gave the ensemble a half-hearted wave before following. He missed Earth.

“Do you know why most of the Virtues of Truth Fell, Crawley?” Jaelzibaal asked quietly once they were back in her office. She wasn’t looking at him. She was looking at that thrice-blessed mirror sitting on her desk.

Crawley didn’t respond right away, doing his best to examine the floor. There was a shallow trench worn into the stone now in front of her desk. “I always assumed it was because they already knew the answers to the questions the rest of us asked.”

The corner of Jaelzibaal’s lip twitched upward. “God gave you too much curiosity when She made you. It’s because we were Virtues of Truth. Real Truth, which is different from the general truth.”

Ah. That explained the mirror. He didn’t remember the Virtue’s shields being quite so painful back in Heaven, but then, they weren’t in Heaven anymore. They hadn’t required a blood sacrifice to show anything back then. “How many are left? Up there?”

Jaelzibaal shrugged. “A few. Not many. God doesn’t champion the Truth, Crawley.” Even if her voice didn’t carry the emphasis, Crawley could sense the important distinction between Truth and truth. The former sent a ripple through her aura. “But, luckily for us, Satan doesn’t, either. And the truth is malleable. It’s a matter of belief and acceptance. Do you understand?”

He did. He did, because changing the rules was how most of them ended up down here. He grinned. The truth, after all, was malleable. “I have to admit, I was confused when you gave me those orders to rescue children. Thought it might have been a plant by the opposition. Lucky I went through with it.”

“Luck had nothing to do with it,” Jaelzibaal responded, flinging herself onto her throne and studying her claws with disinterest. “You obeyed, as is your due. Besides, you know the opposition isn’t clever enough for something like this.”

Crawley thought of Aziraphale, who had probably been more responsible for humanity’s survival than God had been. He was certainly clever enough to conceive of the idea for a false plant to throw off a demonic enemy. The angel would never be able to pull it off on his own, though. Too honest. Too earnest. “Right.”

“Finish the job when you return, Crawley. The point of saving the children was to sow distrust and anger. Remember that.” She nodded pointedly toward one of the hellfire columns. “Oh, and take a bath before you go back. You absolutely reek of angel.”


End file.
